Three Little Words
by Xavier Edgar
Summary: Post-movie Written mostly as mental notes and thoughts from both V and Evey, my first fanfic :D
1. Chapter 1: Three little words

Evey sat, waiting, thinking, breathing. What would happen when he came back? Would he come back? Over the months she had had time to come to terms with what had happened to her. No matter how he had done it, he had made her a better person. A smarter person. And she couldn't hate him for that. After all she had been through she couldn't bring herself to hate him at all. But she had gone too far. She had _kissed _him. She hadn't even been sure that she even liked him let alone... But there _were_ feelings, feelings she hadn't even considered until their lips had met. Feelings that lingered with her now. All she had wanted him to do was stay with her… but why? She couldn't really think of a reason for wanting him back in her life. She could have easily let him walk off to his death but she had acted instead. Evey realised just how heartless that sounded. As much as she hated what he had done to her, she didn't want to see him dead. Something in her wanted him to stay and Evey wasn't sure she wanted to know what it was.

He had told her he would never lie again but how could she know that that in itself was true. She knew that he didn't trust her. She hadn't seen his face, didn't know his name. He couldn't trust her with even his name. He should know her better than that! She had been with him a year now, even if she didn't completely trust him, she could never betray him. He stood for everything she believed in. He was avenging her parents, her brother, Valerie. Valerie would be so proud of him now, for all that he had done. _She_ was proud of him for what he ad done for her country. Even after all that he had put her through, she was proud to know him. To _have _known him…? She stared at the tunnel remembering the last flutter of his cape disappear. Deep inside, she knew he wasn't coming back.

She glanced at the tube station clock, still running after years of under use. It was just like V to come out to wind a silly old clock. What would life be like without him around? Evey had always known that if she had been caught or found out she could always come back to the gallery and find him. He would always keep her safe, give her food and a place to sleep. What would things be like after he 'met his maker'? He was the only person she had in the whole world. She didn't want to be alone again. She didn't want him to die. What if he came back from the fight wounded? She cursed herself for never taking any interest in medical studies. How did you stop a bullet wound? Would he be able to tell her? But she shouldn't have to rely on him like that. He wanted her to be able to survive by herself, to be strong. That was how he had sculpted her. He had put so much work into making her new, freeing her from herself. She hated to think of his disappointment when after all that torture and labour she turned out to be as weak as ever. Evey found that she was underestimating herself. She wasn't weak. She wasn't as strong as V but she wasn't weak.

What if they got to him before he got to them, what if they came down the tunnel and he tried to fend them off? How many would there be? How many could he stand. Evey imagined him carving his knife into a finger-man's chest, his scream wringing out in the air as they fired their rifles and the bullets pierced his flesh. Suddenly V changed from a warrior into a heap of cape festering on the tube station floor. Oh god…

Silently, without realising, Evey started to cry. He had wanted himself to die, he wouldn't fight. He would just let himself get torn apart. Why had he left? Was she really so bad that he would rather walk to his death than face her? What had she done to deserve his hate in such a way. She shouldn't have kissed him, now he knew that she still couldn't be trusted with her emotions, that all the work he had put into her had been in vane, that she could still feel and touch and love… this was why he hated her. If she hadn't been so stupid he would still be here instead of off facing his death. And what if they didn't stop at him? What if they ambushed him in the tunnels so that he would think that she could still hear him, and he could cry out for her to run because he knew that they would come after her? And she didn't hear him...? what if they were on their way now and she had nothing to defend herself with? Then they both would die and all his work would have been in vane… that poor sweet man. Her silent tears welled into sobs. She had let him go off to die without even a goodbye… not a real one. She could have told him that she loved him but she didn't! She hadn't even known how she felt then and now… now he was all she could think about.

Evey straightened up and realised just how irrational she was being. She dabbed at her tears with her denim sleeve. She should have brought a weapon just in case anything happened. But no, she wasn't smart enough to have thought ahead like that. She was so stupid! She could always run back to the gallery and get something, a kitchen knife or one of his daggers. But what if he came back while she was gone? She hated to think of him suffering, wailing in pain and her not being here to help him. Suddenly a shot rang out and she was on her feet before the sound had cleared the tunnels. She needed a knife.

The pain in Vs sides was seeping back in as his body came out of shock, so excruciating this time that his body shook in places he didn't know he had. It was as if his muscles were trying to crawl away from each other, slowly pulling him apart. His intestines writhed around each other, spurting blood down his legs. V inched his hands off of the dead Creedy's neck. His arms numbed from his fingers to his shoulders. He stood catching his breath. He took a step away from the body and slid his shaking hands up under his tunic, tugging at the straps to his bullet proof vest. He tugged the sheet of metal out from under his shirt and was suddenly relieved by the loss of all that weight. The vest's embosses muscles were now disfigures and drooling with blood, V saw that it somewhat resembled his own torso now. Evey, he thought, he needed his Evey.

Sluggishly, the masked man lumbered down the passage, using his hands along the concrete walls to find his way. "_Evey..!_" he called weakly and knew right away the she didn't hear him. It was not only his loss of blood but also his months of isolation from her that made his quite weak. He needed her so much…

As Evey returned to the track where the train lay waiting, she heard foot steps coming from around the corner. She backed up against the wall in anticipation of what might come. She could picture Creedy, his lizard smile curling up his face, poised with a gun in his hand ready for the attack. She dripped the knife tight into he fist and then a thought came to mind and she shocked herself in her discovery, she wasn't scared at all. In fact she couldn't wait. His shocked expression lingered on her eyelids. That man that killed her mother and father, that man that tortured the innocent collapsed to the ground with a burst of agony in her mind, her knife sturdy in his flesh. I little smile played on Evey's lips.

The footsteps came faltering closer as she pulled her arm back. Then she heard a moan, a familiar moan, and dropped the blade to the ground. V's muscles stretched and contracted with effort as he forced himself to stop while coming around the corner. The force of him stopping on suddenly caused him to way and his hat fell off his head and rolled off the tube platform. He reached out an arm to steady himself against the wall. Evey wrapped her arms around him as he collapsed to the floor, muttering his name to try and comfort him. His weight pushed them both down to the floor.

"Evey…" he muttered his breath heavy and full of pain. As she pulled her hands from his back she saw a smear of blood on her hand.

"V… V, we have to stop you bleeding.

"Oh please don't…." he interjected, "I'm finished and glad of it…" his sentence ending in a faint intake of air. Evey felt his boy shudder underneath her.

"Don't say that." she replied looking into the black slits of his mask.

"I told you… only truth." he said. Evey couldn't hold in what she wanted to say any longer. She forgot all her inhabitations and said it, not the cheer herself up, not to lose her guilt, not to keep his attention, this was real. She said it and she _meant it. _

"I love you", Evey said, cradling him further into her arms, "and I'm not going to let you die." With all her strength he hulled the hunk of his body up into her arms and carried him to the bench by the tracks. His breath picked up and down as her feet moved.

Evey realised that she was talking, she heard herself say muttering little calm nothings to him. She sat down next to the bench and huffed out an exhausted breath taking a glance at the clock. There were only three minuets to go. Then she could bring him inside. But how long did he have. Her fingers were buried in the hair of his wig caressing his scalp a little through the fabric, if he had had the energy he would have stopped her. She leaned over to him, comforted by the sight of his chest heaving up and down. She had never been so close to him before, so close she could really smell him. His scent of spices and strange bodily cologne mingled in the air with her perfume. Unwillingly, her body brought her to him and she sank her face against her tunic, soaking him in.

"V?" she muttered. He must be unconscious, she thought. She looked back at the clock. Two minutes. She looked down at V. Her V. She had said it. She had told him. Her hands moved of their own accord and reached over him to poise over his mask. He was unconscious… it was just so easy… but she couldn't. As Evey pulled away her hands she was suddenly aware of another set of feet coming up the station passageway. She looked at the entrance and then down at V. Desperately, she lunged for her knife and then, holding it threateningly in her hand she draped herself over her fallen V. Nothing was going to take him from her. Not now…

Eric Finch came around the corner, armed with a flashlight and a bewildered facial expression. His eyes fell on the protective woman and then on the unconscious terrorist. Apprehension dawned.

"Your Evey Hammond aren't you?"

Evey held the knife so tightly it's engraved CUTCO symbol formed in her palm. "DON'T you come anywhere near me." Finch drew his gun and inclined it towards the body.

"Leave it. Get out of here."

"No." her voice was hard but sweet. The policeman let his gun down a little so that it pointed at her ankles but was still much less threatening.

"Listen. I'm giving you a chance to get out of here", he reasoned, "I could arrest you, easily. Leave it. Go." Evey stood as if she hadn't heard him, her hands in fists, lips in a solid line. He inched away a little and then raised the gun. "I won't do this unless I have to Miss Hammond."

"Then you wont." she replied. Finch took another look down at V's body. Solid, unmoving, dark. Silently he put his gun away.

"Its too late isn't it?" Evey glanced at V, his rising and falling chest and then back at the inspector.

"Yes", she lied. The resonating sound of Big Ben interjected and she got up and walked over to the train. As fast as it had appeared, Finches gun was redrawn.

"Stop! Don't go near that lever!" he came up closer, the gun barrel now a mere foot from her head. He allowed himself a moment to clear his throat. "What are you doing this?"

"Because he was right", she said and every part of her knew it to be true.

"About what?"

"That this country needs more than a building right now, it needs hope." and with that she pulled the lever. It almost escaped her notice that a little red domino fell over as the train set off on its final journey. Evey let herself smile as the music started to play. His music, picking up speed just like the train. Evey closed her eyes and basked in the moment. It was finished, it was done.

V moaned and suddenly the whole world went quiet. Finch fired his gun, Evey threw her blade. It all happened so fast Evey didn't fully realize what had happened until it was too late. The shot rang out in her ears as the blade collided and tore through its victims muscle. Evey looked over at V, lying perfectly still on the bench, sure that he had been hit. She ran to him and glared desperately over his body, looking for a wound. She vaguely noticed a welt in his mask from where the bullet had reverberated. Behind her, Finch collapsed to the ground, spurting blood from his stomach. Evey turned, sure that she had stabbed him in the ankle. In her panic she saw the blade sticking out of his lower shin and him writhing on the floor. Her feet were suddenly rooted into the concrete. The bullet had found him just inches away from his heart, but she didn't have time to worry about him now… did she? The music still hummed away unheard. Evey trembled, she felt faint. But this was no time to pass out, she made her decision.

She once again lifted V's body up into her arms and left, leaving Finch to die on the platform. She would come back for him, if she had time. As she turned the corner she heard as set of footsteps coming up one of the tunnels. Someone would find him. Someone would take care of him. Evey lulled the masked man's frame up the concrete steps, through the door and into the gallery.


	2. Chapter 2: Blood

Tears streamed down her face tangling with the blood and sweat. After an hour of working, she would have thought that her tongue would have gotten used to the taste but it didn't. She looked down at his bare chest. The brown crust of dried blood laced every inch of him. Her hands shook as she searched around her for the jar. She found it, its glass still warm from constant re-use. Oh how she wished she would get used to the taste. Evey spat another bullet into the jar.

His blood covered everything. It speckled on the sheets and soaked through the mattress, drenched her clothes and his in its sticky residue. It was so hard to believe he could still live after losing so much blood. Evey picked up the needle and skewered it into the edge of the wound. V flinched, his muscles contracting and bulging. She almost felt sick for admiring his muscles at a time like this. She had never realized just how strong he was.

As she cut the thread, Evey stood back to examine her work. She couldn't be sure she had gotten every wound, there were so many of them. She pressed her hand against his chest, feeling his warmth.

It took her a second to realise what she was feeling. His broad expanse of flesh loomed before her, wet, uneven and textured, yet somehow comforting. But something was wrong. Evey looked at his body and realised that it had stopped moving. She pressed her ear to him, searching for a heartbeat and found that it was beating in a rapid hum.

Evey frantically looked for the mirror on her bedside table and, taking it in hand, hovered it over the lips of his mask. After a seconds worth of eternity, she pulled it away. V's body convulsed, and shivered, trowing Evey into an unbearable state of panic. She needed to help him, he wasn't breathing.

An idea struck, but she automatically pushed it aside. She couldn't do it… he trusted her. Before her mind reached a decision, Evey's arms lunged forward and pulled at the straps to his mask. She lifted it up just slightly so she could see his mouth. Darkness gaped up at her and, not even considering what she was looking at, she closed her mouth over the gap and breathed. Her hands crossed over his chest and pushed down. She had never realised how difficult this was. CPR had always looked so easy on TV, but his body refused to deflate. She pushed against him harder, easing his breath out of him.

She gave him another breath and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace, squeezing out the air. This seemed more effective. V coughed and rolled to his side, spitting out a smear of coagulated blood. His head cocked back and fourth on his shoulders like a cat coughing up a hairball. Hesitantly, Evey rolled him onto his side. Blood oozed from the guerrilla's lips.

With a shaking hand he lifted up the hem of his mask, possibly out of habit. Evey Hammond decided to take a step back? What if he saw her looking down at his bare face? Would he be angry? After a moment she noticed his eyes, bright and blue standing out like diamonds among coal. They were weakly drifting along the floor, absent minded, almost looking lost. She stepped back to him and realized that he was in too weak a state to see her. Uneasily she rolled him onto his back.

V's blue eyes searched, not knowing what to expect, aching in the presents of all the flashing covers to books. In their travels, they came upon a patch of peach and red. He tried to concentrate and condense the image by failed. He felt warmth coming from her skin, her perfume seeped into his nose. In that moment he was in a state of absolute bliss. But his eyelids were suddenly weighted down. Evey smiled as her love drifted back into comatose with I smile wide across his face.

It had been a long night, but the both of them had made it through. Evey lay across his chest, vaguely aware of where she was. His warmth pressed sweetly against her cheek, her arms draped around his belly. She must have fallen asleep, somewhere in the night. She was vaguely aware of his breathing and… something else… something unpleasant. Her mind scanned her surroundings with a list, making sure that everything was up to speck. She was only really aware of what it was once it had stopped. The grandfather clock in the gallery had just struck 12.

Midnight? Images of the night before suddenly filled her mind. The crowds of people in the streets, the long wait for his return, the death of finch, their dance together to the sound of 'Bird Gerhl'… the memory flashed through her vision spreading comprehension down her limbs like electricity. She had kissed him, and told him she loved and seen him…" the thought was cut short. Her eyes wander down to his face. Still exposed as he lie on the bed. She had_ seen _him. Her eyes lingered on his face for a moment and then she pulled away.

This wasn't right. She had anticipated this moment for so long and now that it had come and passed, she still couldn't believe it. He was right here in front her. Her feet carried her over to him before she had had time to protest.

His face had taken as much abuse as his chest; its skin pink and tattered. So why was she still staring at him? She loved him. That was why. Evey looked back on her words, still unfamiliar to her own lips. She couldn't believe herself… why had she said anything? He would have survived either way, wouldn't he?

Had he even heard her? Did he love her back….no. If he loved her he wouldn't have rejected her. That was plain as day. If he loved her he would have trusted her enough to tell her his plans. She could have helped him, he could have come out ok. Deep inside Evey knew she was lying to herself, if he had told her she would have died trying to stop him. But if she had known from the beginning that he planned to meet his fate she wouldn't have depended on him so much, she wouldn't have done anything so stupid as to fall in love with him. Evey looked again at the man on the bed. No. he didn't love her.

If he loved her he wouldn't have hurt her so much… Evey's train of though was suddenly derailed. Something had changed. The masked man had opened his eyes…


	3. Chapter 3: Ashamed

V lay, his head against the pillow, his hands at his sides, staring up into the limbate brown abysses that were Evey's eyes. Instinctively, but futilely, he attempted to move his hands. Agony struck him like an arrow, somehow fired from the inside. His skin crawled all over at the idea of immobility, he was far too good to be taken prisoner by his own pain. Then an idea struck… he was alive. _Alive. _It was over. He became aware of some strange force upon him, like he was being watched. V saw with his eyes instead of just looking and his mind was suddenly conflicted with something he did and didn't want to see. Evey, his Evey. He could see her eyes and her lips, her nose and her neck. All of her was open to him. Why was that so strange? Comprehension flooded into his brain. Nothing was closing her off to him, he could see her, all of her, smell her, he could touch her. The terrorist really saw his love for the first time, not in the darkness of a prison cell, not through the murky fabric, he could SEE her. And she was _so _beautiful. She could see him too. Oh God… no.

"…" he tried to speak but pursed his lips.

"V", she put a hand to his head and he shuddered unwillingly at the contact. He felt exceedingly warm underneath her palm, but he wasn't sick. "How are you feeling?" _She speaks, _he thought, _oh speak again bright angel! _Her lips formed the words so gracefully, her eyes batting. She could _see _him! Wasn't she frightened? He tried to sit up and wheezed at the effort. Evey saw as a cluster of muscles under the see through skin of his cheek stretched when he tightened his jaw. She put her hands on his chest to calm him and press him back down again. "Don't move", she said, "Your in a lot of pain…"

"I would prefer if you left the room, Evey." he interrupted. She gave him an almost shocked look.

"V…" she spoke.

"I would prefer that you did not see me in this state", he continued, "I will take care of my injuries on my own." But Evey stood tall. She wasn't going anywhere.

"No." She replied. It was his turn to object.

"Evey…"

"Your in no condition to get up."

"I must attend to myself", said the terrorist, "and I would prefer that you were not to see my…"

"I've already 'attended' to you." V tilted his head a little in query, but Evey didn't elaborate. Instead she stood and walked a little way towards the door. "I'm going to get some water to clean you up." She gave him a look up and down and knew that he wouldn't get up while she was gone. _Would he? Was he just faking all of this? _She wouldn't put it past him. She stepped out the door and towards the kitchen all the same. She needed to get him cleaned up, his body was covered in blood. At a glance she noticed hers was too.

As she searched the kitchen drawers for a cloth, she came upon a pair of tweezers. Evey glared at them. _"Where the hell were you when I needed you?" _She muttered.

V slowly edged his head up the headboard to get a look over his body and was shocked to find that the only layer of fabric between him and the elements was a thin woollen blanket. What had she done with his clothes? It was pulled down to around his waist between his eyes and which he could see his expanse of chest. The texture was different than it usually was, not any less grotesque but mush more full of red and orange. V recognised this texture well, his chest was smeared with dried blood. Barely, he could make out the places where he hands had been as gaps between the scarlet painted areas, and small amounts of what he thought he recognised as stitching. She had indeed toiled over him. But two could she put up with it? It was a simply repulsive sight, his muscle. Scarred far beyond the point of any recognition. He knew that he she would never look at him the same. He would disgust her, even if it was in secret. She would never tell him, _of coarse, _that would be very rude. And Evey was hardly ever rude. She was so sweet to him. So warm. _So loving… _No. he couldn't allow himself such thoughts. V was sure that any hope for romance between them was forever gone from this moment forward. Even with what she had said on the platform, he new that her words were well retracted by now. She could never love him. A little part of him ached inside, knowing that he would always love her. Always.

Evey came in and the fire of his thoughts was uplifted into a great roaring flame. After a few minutes, he had forgotten that she was coming back to concentrate on bigger things, but now that she had returned it felt as though he hadn't seen her in ages. In her hands were a small bowl of water and a towel. She sat down next to him and he search her facial features for a twinge of disapproval at the sight of his mangled body, to his surprise he found none. She was good at controlling her expression, he decided mentally, very good. She dipped the cloth in the bowl, and wrung it out. He attempted to edge away a little as it came towards him.

"No", he breathed.

"Oh come on now V, you being childish."

"I'm not being childish", he rebutted, "I'm simply not comfortable with you touching my skin", he lied, "and I'm sure that it makes you uncomfortable as well."

"It may have escaped your notice but I have spent plenty of time touching your skin already and it really doesn't bother me in the slightest." V knew she must have been lying but _god she was good at it. His eyes found their way to her hands, slender, curved, soft. These hands had touched his muddled skin, a sensation he had craved for so long and yet he couldn't remember it. And now she was about to touch him again. How sickened she must be, how shocked. His lips ran over each other in anticipation. As the wet cloth met his face, he closed his eyes in concentration. If she could have seen how much he wanted this, she would have left for sure and never some back. His mind fizzled and rumbled within itself, trying to contain his perverted thoughts. _

_The fabric mopped along his jaw and the temptation to curve his lips up to meet her skin was almost overwhelming. His heart thumped against his ribs and V just prayed that she couldn't hear it. Evey smiled, she was making him uncomfortable. It was almost funny to see him squirm in an attempt to control himself. She new what he was thinking and it made her heart ache. But if she provoked him enough, he would come out of his shell and she could catch a glimpse of what the real V was like. The other side of the murderer that longed for her as she longed for him. She knew he was in there, all there was to draw him out. It was the side of him that she had fallen in love with. _


	4. Chapter 4: Thoughts

_Thank You Ann, Killer K-Jay, and Whysoseriousblack (which by the way is just the coolest pen name ever!) for your reviews. Its nice to have fans and, once I rule the world, you can have as much chunky monkey ice-cream as you desire (once you're done building my pyramids with everyone else.) It is a pleasure to feel wanted, so thank you. :D _

It had been a few days since Evey had brought him back to the gallery and she was already seeing his health improve. She rarely left his side. She brought him food. She kept him healthy just by being there. But in the back of his mind he knew that she didn't intend to create any hope in him. She couldn't love him. Ever.

He would never deserve her after what he had done. His hands, those hands that had held daggers to throats, that had forced steel through innocent flesh, that had taken the lives of hundreds… maybe thousands of people didn't deserve to touch her skin. V had never really considered himself a bad man. He never felt real guilt for what he had done. Not until he had met her.

He could never forget the scars he had given himself for what he had done. Every time he had hurt her during her during her time in his strange staged prison, V had cut himself. Because the mental agony hadn't been enough. His touching her then and his want to touch her now both skimmed along the very edge of his physiological limits. He knew that she could never want him like he wanted her. At least he thought he had known. And then she said it…

She had been lying next to him on the now freshly sheeted bed, her arms supporting his head against a pillow that lay across her chest. It served as a wall between them, that was why she had put it there, he had thought. But no. Now things were all wrong. She _couldn't _have meant it. Not in that way. His head was swimming. Every touch of hers made him weak at the knees.

The contact he had craved was enough to send him soaring but suddenly… suddenly that all meant nothing. Not by comparison. If he had been standing he would have collapsed from his feet giving out underneath him. She had really said it, after all the torture he had but her through, after all the suffering he had caused, even after she had been his face… she couldn't have. He was tired, he must have imagined it. But he could tell by the way she looked at him now he hadn't.

V couldn't help but reply. As agonisingly as his brain denied it, his heart spoke for him. He spoke and he couldn't take it back. That moment lasted forever. In that second all his inhibitions were lost. His mind was blank. Nothing else existed but the two of them. Looking into each others eyes. Locked in one another's arms. And it wasn't until he had said it that he realised what it was. Was this how she felt? Feeling like she shouldn't have said anything at all? Did she regret it? V's mind was a battle field.

Evey heard him reply to her. Her heart tingling. Her soul ablaze. Had he meant it? V was always so serious about what he said, so careful. And he had told her that he would never lie to her again. Was she getting her hopes up? It was suddenly very hot. I should say something but I don't want to ruin the moment, she thought. Instead she smiled at him and in return he smiled at her. As perfect as it seemed from the outside, on the inside they were both so confused and frustrated.

Their hearts beat wildly as one, minds working to think of the repercussions of what had just happened. What would happen now? What was to come? But neither one could take back what was said. It was more than just words, it was something that you couldn't just suck back in again or pretend it hadn't happened. And neither of them wanted to take it back. As frustrated as they were, they knew that this moment belonged to them. This was their tree.

"I love you." Evey had said.

"I love you too", he had replied.


	5. Chapter 5: Skin

In the part between her lids, Evey could make out the basic outline of his head and shoulders, sprouting out the top of the crumbled blankets. His shirt muddled, his skin creased and distorted, his muscular back arching and churning as he stretched in his sleep. Since she had taken his mask off, she had tried to resist the urge to examine him but now, now he had her full attention and as her eyes adjusted, Evey became slowly captivated. His skin, in its unreal shade of pink, glowed slightly against the white of the sheets. The air between them was filled with a strange tension.

It was awkward,, even with him asleep, to see him. He wouldn't have wanted her to, of coarse. He never would have let her see him if he she had had a choice. Evey took some secret solace in knowing that, even if she had had a choice, if there would have been any other way of saving him, she might have panicked, and seen him anyway. That's what she would have said if he asked. That she had had no choice in it, that it was impulsive. He would have believed her. At least he would have liked to believe her, so he would, for their sake.

He was a complicated man, her V. Sweet and sour, soft and rough. She had sometimes wondered in her months of staying at the gallery, whether he was insane or possibly schizophrenic. He had the signs, and with all that he had been through it wouldn't surprise her. A strange query occurred in among her thoughts and she quelled it instantly, she knew the answer. She would love him even if she was crazy. There was something different about the surface of his skull suddenly; a small movement that caught her eye. It was a hand, thin and white, almost skeleton like, its fingertips softly grazing their pads along his dermis.

The contrast between the two skins shocked her a little. She had never realised how pale she was. The sight was a sudden darkness in her otherwise dreamy thoughts, not necessarily bad, just intense by comparison.

His warmth made her heart ache a little, something once so frightening and mysterious now seemed strangely familiar. She felt a little nostalgic. Evey took a breath and placed the whole palm of her hand against his skin. He would have protested, had he been awake. He would have reached back in the time of an intake of breath, swiping her hand from his skin and keeping it between his fingers. But Evey knew as much as he resisted, he would have enjoyed the sensation. She wondered how long it had been since he'd been touched and the idea made her want to touch him more.

A month ago she would have hated herself for thinking that. It was almost silly to have been in denial to how she felt. Looking at him now she knew he feeling would never fall away. She had learned that the hard way, spending all that time out of the gallery wishing that it would. Oh how she had despised the thought of him during those first few weeks out on her own. Wishing constantly that she wouldn't have to see his face everywhere she went, on the screens, in the shops, in her head. And in peoples words, oh how people had loved to talk about him. It drove her wild. HE drove her wild. Inwardly, she cringed at her thoughts. She could hardly believe how much she had hated him then. But even after the hate drained away she still thought about him. Every day, all the time.

She dreamed about him, more dreams than she could remember. Evey recalled waking up in her flat and wishing that se hadn't seen what she had just seen. It was then that she knew, her thoughts about him would never go away. She was in love…

He beau stirred a little amongst the blankets. He breathed her name and shock riddled through her bones. Evey swept her arm around him and pulled him a little closer to her. His heart beat could be felt even through his back. Her hand remained on his scalp, feeling the rough texture.

"Evey…" he murmured again.

"Good Morning" she whispered.

Suddenly the scene changed. V's muscles twitch and scrunched under his shirt. He pulled from her arms and sat up.

"V?" Evey said. His tall figure stood in front of her and she felt for a moment a sparkle of happiness. It had been days since he had been on his feet. He was suddenly showing signs of real strength. But why?

"V, your still ill. Come and lie down. _I'll get up." Evey pushed the blankets aside but the tall dark figure was already gone. Her hands felt suddenly cold again. As she sat up, she could make out the sound of long feet being slapped against the floor as he ran. Evey quickly got out of the bed and followed him. He had somehow evaded her in his strange frustrating way. Poking her head around corners in search of a sound Evey eventually was able to track him down. His head hung in the toilet bowel, that pink round shape she had gotten familiar with since she had woken now draped over the side melting into the shape of a muscular body that draped onto the floor. His breathing was slow and spaced. He must be unconscious, Evey thought. The hulk of his body shook in her arms as she dragged him back to her room. What ever strength that had possessed her to carry him had been drained. _


	6. Chapter 6: No

V sat at the kitchen table hanging his head in his hands, as Evey walked in she stroked her hand across the vast blankness of his back. He didn't look up.

"Would you like anything?" Evey said nervously. The masked man didn't stir. She thought she recognised a small movement of his shoulders but it was so small it was quite likely she had imagined it. "does that mask make you feel more comfortable?" she said suddenly. After his fit that morning he had wandered into his dressing room and put it on again, with out a word as to why. Evey was frustrated, things had been going so well! Maybe it had all been a lie and he had been delusional when he had spoken to her, maybe their intimate moment was just a one sided fantasy? He had suffered so much damage after all, what if he had been effected mentally? Why wasn't he speaking to her when he she could tell he knew that she was desperate to ask him questions. Why were things so god damned complicated with this man? He tilted his head a little and spoke.

"Evey," his voice was drawn long from exhaustion and nausea, "I would like to thank you for what you have done for me…"

"Oh V it really isn't…"

"But I should think it was about time you left." Evey was suddenly rooted to the floor. _What..? _This wasn't right. The air of confusion and frustration was sucked from the room and suddenly everything was quite cold. "I'm sure that you will have been expected elsewhere for the last few days. Work to attend to people to see. It seems hardly right for me to detain you." Evey realised that she wasn't breathing and quickly urged her lungs to wheeze out a breath. Something heavy as a cannon ball landed in her stomach.

"But…"

"I believe that I am strong enough now to take care of myself."

"But V, you said that…" This time it wasn't him that cut her words off, her throat sealed shut tightly enough that she could only just breathe. Tears threatened to brim in her eyes as she tried to compose herself.

"We have both have been quite stressed and unwell these past few days. As well as deprived of sleep. I can assure you that anything I might have said may have been taken out of context." He still had not turned to face her. Outside it seemed as though he was being uncaring, but truly, if he saw her face now he knew it would break his heart. It was killing him to tell her like this. But she deserved to know the truth. They could never be together being the way that he was. He would never deserve her after what he had done.

Evey's heart felt like it had been torn from her chest. He was taking it back! He was fucking taking it back! After all that she had done. For him. Tears peaked above her lashes and drizzled down her cheeks. At an impulse her mind tried to distract itself to calm her down but failed when it found nothing was interesting enough to catch her eye. The world was suddenly in black and white.

"You didn't mean it." She murmured, her emotions lacing her words. It wasn't a question so it didn't need an answer. But he felt he had to say something. What could he say to that? For the first time in his life, words didn't just suddenly spring to mind. _Of coarse he loved her! _but he had come to far to go back now.

"Evey you have been as deprived of sleep as I have. The events of yesterday afternoon were…" He couldn't think of a quote to describe what he was trying to say. His body was trembling underneath him. He desperately tried to control himself. If she saw him out of his calm, there was no telling what she would think "I was not as able to control my words in my weak state." He took a deep breath. "Before urging into… emotions, you should at least have some time to consider what was done before the fifth. You may not realise what you are getting into…"

"You didn't mean it." she said again, a little louder. He stopped talking. Anything he said now would only make matters worse. Evey's limbs felt completely numb, and she took a step forward almost reaching for him. As if touching him would bring her some small comfort. But she knew it wouldn't and pulled away. _Why was he doing this! What had she done wrong? _

"_I'm sorry," he said standing up, "I really think you should go." He started to walk away, feeling her eyes on his back as he made his way to his room. She would never have loved him the way he loved her anyway, she had been frazzled when she had spoken to him. Too emotionally compromised by feelings that would not last. He slowly walked away down one of the gallery halls and out of site. She stood in the kitchen, the counter digging against her back, and began to sob loudly into the echoing passage. _


	7. Chapter 7: Cold

Three days. Three whole days. Evey could hardly believe she made it this long without breaking down again. Her life had become a little circle of eating, sleeping and working. She supposed that that was the way things were for most people. She was living a normal life. And she HATED it.

She hadn't dared to go back down to the gallery. Evey couldn't even bring herself to think about him, how selfish he was, how heartless. She couldn't even bring herself to speak his name. It was about two in the morning and she hadn't slept all night. There was tea over boiling on the stove and blankets still dishevelled on the bed. She was sitting on the sofa, looking out the window into the blackness over London, curled up with a book that she wasn't reading and trying not to feel anything. She was numb all over and had been for days. Natalie, a girl from work, had sat in front of her waving her hand waiting to grab her attention for a good ten minutes before Evey had noticed.

"Something up?" she said.

"Oh," said Evey attempting to fake a smile and thinking about him at the action, "No, no just thinking."

"About..?" _God! Why was this woman so persistent? _"Man trouble?" _spot on! Bloody hell! _Evey's mind was far too dishevelled to come up with a lie. She tried to improvise but her words had came out as a brief mumble.

"Common, you can tell me…" Natalie smiled her warm and friendly smile. The kind of smile that got you a job in customer services like this. The kind of smile that made Evey's heart sink.

"I don't really want to talk about it," she said at last, "Its not really any of your business anyway." That last part was a little harsh, but Evey didn't want to encourage any questions in the future. Eventually Natalie backed down and hopped off her desk to go and answer the phone.

Evey's mind wandered aimlessly over the events of the day just to think about something other than him. _him. _Him! HIM! Anything at all would do. She found a nice bland memory of standing in the supermarket line at the store, wondering if the woman in front of her was a girl from work she used to know.

Evey had stood as the woman checked her items, her eyes buried in the customers bronzy-blonde hair trying to place her face. But then when the woman had turned Evey had found that her nose was all wrong. London was such a big place after all, there were people of all shapes and sizes.

She got herself a cup of tea and watched a rented video until the sun came up. All the ones she owned, she had gotten from him. It was something about a woman and, from what she could recall had lots of flashing colours and lights, plenty of good distracting things.

It had been a French film*. Since the revolution, foreign films, strange foods, bits of art and lost of other lost things had been dug up. Things that the government hadn't banned because they didn't know they existed. The man at the 24hour rental place, just down stares, had motioned how he had found a whole stash of them in an old crate in an alley near his house. Evey knew where they had come from, but she tried to convince herself that it had been a mere coincidence. _Of coarse it wasn't. _

Her stomach churned so she drank some more of her tea. It was ginger. Her mother had always given her chamomile when she was feeling down, but chamomile made her tired, and the very last thing she wanted to do right now was start dreaming again. He haunted her dreams like a ghost. Another twist of her guts brought the lips of the cup back to her mouth again. She didn't like ginger tea much, but she appreciated the fact she didn't like it, it gave her something to think about.

Eventually she started to get dozy, her eyelids drooping down blocking out the moonlight. She needed to stay awake but she didn't have another movie to put on so she got up and slouched over to the window. The bright lights of the London eye swirled in the distance** glowing their brilliant blues and greens out over the Thames. They were calming, lulling, warm. Warm. It was far too warm in here. Cool air would wake her up that was what she needed.

She threw on a pair of jeans over her pyjama shorts and stepped out onto the fire escape. The wind felt strange in her short hair but it certainly woke her up. She wrapped her long top more tightly around her slim frame.

All at once the streets were filled with music. V! she thought, and then wiped the thought from her mind, she suddenly grew cold and empty as the music grew louder. The van, once an "Ear" monitoring van, swung an illegal curve round the Regent St. junction and onto her block on Piccadilly, spraying the obnoxious sounds of American rap music into the still winter air. It was a strange sound, this music. Something she had never heard before. A fresh new feeling of youth and ecstasy that the government had hated. This was the sort of thing young people needed today. Something to keep them full of rage and passion again. 10 years of Norsfire rule had drained them of that.

As the van whirred past, Evey saw a bunch of drunk young men leaning out the door and windows jousting each other groggily, swerving this way and that. At any other time she might have laughed but not today. Happiness, chaos and rebellion rung in her ears. People started to shout off the balconies increasing the feeling, both egging the group on and complaining for peace and quiet.

Eventually the swerving car made it to the end of the block and turned the corner. Evey stared after it. The quiet was deafening. She sat for a little while trying to force his image back out of her head. She reminded herself of how cold it was and instinctively reached for the door. But cold was what she needed now, she was cold on the inside too. She bare feet found their way down the cold steps and ladders until she was at the street, not really sure what she was waiting for.

She would have to grow up and face it sometime. She was going to have to learn to live without… V. He could never love her, not the way that she loved him. He was too cold inside. To hard and empty. She should have learned that when she had tortured her. Why had she not learned that? Why was she so stupid as to even think he could love her? She was unaware of how hard she was suddenly breathing.

_Because he had let her believe. _He had told her he loved her just so that she would believe him, just so he could break her down again. She HATED him. And she hated herself for being so childish. Her thoughts were interrupted suddenly as the van came back around the block playing a different tune, another that she didn't recognise.

The wind was in her hair as she made her decision and her feet carried her towards it.

Up a few stories, still peaking out his apartment window, a man saw her running and thought she was going to jump in with the drivers. _Probably a young girl chasing after her drunk boyfriend, _he mused in his head. He too had been young once, in search of rebellion and daring and women. Since the revolution he had felt like that again, just a little. And he was proud that he could still feel that way. But all the feelings in his brain stopped their swirling as he came back to reality in a suddenly jolt. A few words of loud warning escaped his lips but he didn't hear them and neither did the girl in the street. Evey threw herself in front of the van.

_* Jean-Pierre Junet's "Amilie"_

_** A huge bloody Ferris-Wheel that doesn't make an appearance in the movie. _


	8. Chapter 8: These Hands

WARNING: This chapter is quite visual and generally freaky, I recommend any young readers to distain from reading this chapter (at least the half) the story will make enough sense without it anyway.

V sat in his normal chair, a book in his hands, a smile painted across his face, staring up into the painted eyes of Monique. She stared back at him with her patient gaze. Her eyes had followed him from the kitchen to his spot in the chair. She was naked, her arms criss-crossed around her hips, her expression was not that of embarrassment but of shock or even fear. Since the moment he sat down he hadn't left her eyes to examine the book in his hands. Not once.

The artist had captured her eyes so perfectly: glazed, wet, pleading. When he had first brought the painting to his home, he had seen a small amount of himself in those eyes. His weakness and futility when stripped of his clothes. But Monique had humanity, in her tears was compassion. In himself he saw no humanity, not now. In her he could no longer find his soul, nor could he find any real reason why he ever had, not after her.

She had been right about him, he was a monster, he had done nothing to warrant her love. She must have been completely out of her mind to have even considered loving him, she had been weak and confused, scrambled in her mindset. He could only hope she had. If she indeed did love him he could only imagine what sort of mental state she had gone through in his care. It was not entirely unlikely he had driven her completely mad.

He could see her now. Her body, skeletally slimming, lying half dead on the concrete floor of her cell. Suddenly awoken my the harsh feel of his boot in her ribs. She would twitch in agony or slither into the corner in the way a wounded animal would, her skin cold and raw from hours of senseless torture. Her eyes pleading just in the way the Monique's did. Wet and cold, contempt lurking on her lips. He had sat in his room with that same look plastered across his continence, looking at himself in the mirror with a razor in one hand.

She had screamed as he crushed her pelvis to the floor with his foot, and he extracted the same scream out of himself. He had never hated anything as much as he had hated himself then, more than Lewis Prothero serving him his tri-daily beatings, more than father Lilliman preaching to his trembling body about the horrors of homosexuality, more than Rossiter pinning his weak limbs up against the wall and beating and raping him until he passed out from exhaustion or sometimes went into shock.

In Rossiter's hands he had found more hate than anything he had ever come across before or since; manhandling his legs and arms, testicles and face, his thumb pressing into his jaw muscles in such a way to stop the screaming as the other arm knocked the wind out of his rapidly thinning gut.

He had cut off those hands, the night the prison had gone up in flames, tracking the guard down in the woods as he ran from the flaming building, taking both his wrists in his still smouldering, skinless, oozing hand and slicing them at the base. He had never felt such glory as in those few minutes, knowing he could do anything. But he looked down at his hands in his room at night and saw them again, reattached to his wrists, staring back at him. He had cried for the fist time in his life that fist night. Wishing that he could pull them apart at the bones.

He couldn't look at her any longer, as much as he wanted to prove to himself that he could if he wanted to. Silently, tears rolled down his scarred cheeks and into the collar of his tunic. He sat down in front of the television while his hands searched subconsciously for the remote. The television automatically flicked onto the BTN news where he had left it earlier that day. And his ears were filled with the sound of her name. No. NO!

Evey rolled over onto her side and was overcome with the urge to scream. She did. The nurse entered. He was young and inexperienced, his name was Stephen. He fumbled with Evey's chart and, not sure exactly what to do, he turned up her morphine drip ½ a point. Her body relaxed slightly and he instantly wondered weather he had used too much. _Could he call for someone? _No, everyone on call was either attending to the patients from the fire on Bayswater road that those X finger-men had started or trying to ward off any press eager to see the Hammond girl.

He looked down at her bruised face, half hidden by the oxygen mask. He took a step closer, she was so young, even younger then himself, it was amazing how much other people could accomplish such a young age and he couldn't. Steve took a moment to glance back on his life with a pinch of disappointment. One of his hands landed softly on her forehead to take her temperature.

She was so soft. The young nurse wished deeply that someday he might meet a decent woman like her and run off on some adventure. His train of though was suddenly cut short as a small breeze of wind caught the hairs on the back of his neck. He stood up and found his way to the window in the half light. Finding the clip with his index finger and sliding it closed. He took one more look at the beautiful woman, illuminated only by the dull florescent light bulb and the even duller afternoon sunlight. Then he left.

Her the shape of her body was formed as an image in shadows and orange patters as the sunset projected into the window. There was a sound, deep and profound, dark and full of both sadness and admiration. As she stirred, she heard it say: "The mute eloquence of her look and manner was only the harbinger of that same thrilling eloquence which fell from her tongue when I won the declaration of her affection."* the voice was familiar and yet so new and refreshed that she was just close enough to realizing who it belonged to that she became frustrated with not being able to understand just who it was at all. Her breath heaved in concentration, but she did not have the energy to fathom such things at this time. She gave up and quickly dozed off again. He hesitantly slid one finger down her cheek and then casually surveyed her chart. She would be well sooner then he had thought, she was a lucky woman his Evey…no. Not his. _Never_ his. He would come back for her then, when she was well again. He wouldn't be able to stop himself.

He climbed down the fire escape and out onto the now deserted street and muttered under his breath: "There were moments, too, when I would have gladly paid the price for all my future life to redeem and cancel my past; for I was already shrunk, with prophetic fears, from what was to come. Nor could the intoxicated anticipations of what ample wealth which awaited me, when another year should elapse…" The cape of the masked man twirled in the darkness orange and melted into the shadow of an alley as he spoke. "…make me forget that I was doomed to enjoy it _alone."**_

_* & ** both from "The Casket" by George R. Graham _


	9. Chapter 9: Jelly

_I'd like to just give a shout out to all the fans who have commented so far. This is my first fanfic and all your comments have been appreciated. I gotta say if you think my fanfic is good you should read LikeRain's work. It kicks my works ass! No kidding! You all inspire me! _

Evey sat in the crumbled cotton sheets waiting for her breakfast. Her nightgown rolled up to her waist after hours of tossing and turning in her sleep. V. She couldn't stop thinking about V. He had been here, she knew it, he had to have come and visited her. Even if she didn't have any proof, he was always a gentleman. How could he resist? How could he have not? She could remember him vaguely, a breeze of wind through an open window, the black flame of his cape twisting around on the balcony before vanishing into the shadows inside the door. He had been here. She could smell him. And for a sweet moment when she had woken and known of his presence, she had almost felt happy his warmth had touched her, he had shed his pity upon her, he had come to care for her. If he could care.

In a snap she had come back to reality, and it made her sick, this feeling. Her heart ached for him a little still, wished that he was still here. She held back a few tears and she stared at the floor trying once again, yet now quite feebly, to think of something else. The nurse bustled in, the same one from the day before who had attempted to giver her an appetite for dinner, was now coming towards her with an eager look and a small tub of green jelly. Evey sighed and sat back in her bed, pulling her small table to sit in front of her.

"So, feeling better already ay?" the nurse said. She was large and wearing a lot of pink. A motherly comforting figure. Evey knew an apron that would have suited her perfectly. "Now if you don't mind I'm gonna have to give you your brekky after I give you your needle so just be patient."

"It's alright, I haven't got much of an appetite anyway." The woman smiled and shook her head a little.

"Girls gotta eat ya'know. Just look at you, skin and bones. What sort of food was he giving you at his place anyway? You look like your gonna starve." This woman seemed to have the same sense of what was and wasn't her business as Natalie. Evey didn't answer her. Listening to this woman brought the full image of V back into her mind. His cold, quiet demeanour, his smooth grandiloquent way of speaking, his eyes…oh his eyes. That soft pale blue, shade of sky in perfect contrast with the harsh pinks and yellows of his skin. Those strangely warm, soul-seeking, sadness filled eyes. He seemed almost…empty. They had only made eye contact once. For one long moment… the moment she had told him… I twinge of pain shot through her chest. She needed to take her mind off him NOW before she started to lose herself again.

"Bloke came in here last night" the nurse mumbled, breaking Evey's chain of thought. Couldn't be! Again! Why did he insist on torturing her like this! She rolled over toward the nurse, trying to seem nonchalant.

"Oh really." she raised her eyebrows a little faking some light interest, keeping her eyes on her jelly. "What did he look like?"

"Oh pretty tall. Hite bushy beard, carried a walkin' stick," she said busying herself with tidying the bed next to Evey's. They didn't make eye contact but Evey could tell from her tone that the woman was suspicious, her hands were shaking a little as she picked up one of the pillows and shook it back into its case.

"That'd be my uncle I think," she replied.

"Hmm," the woman replied.

This woman was so nervous evey could see her whole body shaking. She couldn't resist… it was after the revolution after all…and she wouldn't be too specific. What could happen?

"Or him," she tried to keep the laughter out of her voice but a little slipped out. "_He probably would want to check in on me." The woman's motions slowed until she was still. The words lingered in the air. Evey offered the situation a light cough to break the tension but the woman was still quite unmoved. _

_A smile played on her lips for the first time in a week._


	10. Chapter 10: The Balcony Scene

Was he doing the right thing? Was he being selfish? He had admitted to himself long ago that he would always want her… maybe he was being to swayed by his emotions, enslaved by his heart. In one smooth movement his feet left the pavement on the veranda and landed on the corners of the railing, ready to jump down. He could leave any time he wanted and she wouldn't think twice about it. She would live on without him… he hoped.

But then he remembered… that day in the gallery, eating his breakfast and thinking about her (always thinking about her) when the thought had struck him. _What if she did this because of you?_ Which was ridiculous because she wouldn't do something so stupid on purpose. She was too strong to be compromised by what her heart said. Then again, that was always what he had thought of himself, and look at him now: waiting at her window like a moth to a light globe, like Romeo to his Juliet. These past three weeks had bee agony to live without her, to know she was hurt and that he couldn't help. _How parting was such sweet sorrow* _

And when the thought had appeared he had done the stupid thing and left it to grow inside his head instead of pushing it aside. Now it was all he thought about. _She had tried to kill herself because of what I did… _and yet she hadn't attempted suicide over the torture? That was obvious evidence against his theory. So he had let himself think it had been an accident. Until he had come to see her that day.

He had dressed n his William Rookwood façade because it's appearance suggested age that laid down immediate acceptance for the gravelly voice that accompanied it, used of coarse to mask his own voice. Dear William's face had been one of his best adaptations of the real man's face V had made even though V had only known him for some five minutes. That shocked expression would stay with him all his days, the face of his first victim, his first kill. It came in handy that memory. Although now it was somewhat regretted. He had been inexperienced, the death had been slow and sloppy. Although he had deserved to die, V knew that if _she _had seen what he had done, she would know that it was not meant to be between them. That stupid girl. Why did she have to hurt herself like this? Why did she have to hurt him?

His feet still balanced on the railing, V forced himself to make a decision. He could leave here and let her live her life without him: a life which even though it would hurt now, would be better for her in the long run. _Or _he could step inside and take her up in his arms and bring her home. And explain that he was wrong, even though he hadn't really bean. Not exactly anyway. Instinctively his hand reached for the window latch slipped the space open.

The wind caught the curtains, blowing them out of his view of the woman on the bed. Her shaved head laying facing him against the pillow. Her perfect lips catching the moonlight. Those lips have deserve better than mine against them, he thought, but I will never stop longing for them. Never. When she comes to he senses, she will realise how foolish she is. For ever loving _me. _Me who beat her, me who broke her, me whose deeds deserve a punishment worse then death. But she wouldn't let me die. Maybe she wants me to be miserable.

Those words, that thought, this feeling: _She would die for me? _That day when he had come to check on her the nurse had told him what happened. It hadn't been an accident. The shock had struck him to his very core. It had been true. She had done it! And it was his fault! With age as an excuse, he had sat down, he had needed to sit down. His self hatred would have brought him to his knees if he hadn't. she had tried to kill herself because of him. She would die for him. This wasn't just lust or childishness anymore. This was not a game of pity or shame. She would _die _for him. Even after all he had put her through she would die for _him? _

It was true, he must have driven her insane. This woman was mad, probably beyond the point of saving. So was he… He found himself turning to look behind him at the vast city. His eyes travelled down to the ground thirteen stories below. Just one little push would send him to his death. A second of loss of balance. She had been on this precipice, the line between choosing to meet her maker and surviving another miserable day. She had chosen to end her life… he could feel the way she felt then. He could push himself out of her life right here and now. A hundred people's deaths would be avenged right here and now. _I would die for her, _he thought.

"_I love you, and I wont let you die"_

_I want to die, he thought, I really do. A few moments past while the masked man made a decision. He prepared himself. The silence in the night deafened him, the chill froze him. Finally two booted feet stepped off the balcony and into space. Silence. _

_Silence. Wind blowing. Curtains fluttering. The nurse stepped in and came over to the window to close it. It was cold, it had been a long night. She was working double shifts, she was tired. She froze at the sight of the bed. It was empty. The two booted feet landed softly, not on unforgiving pavement, but on the roof of the building beside the hospital. With uncertainty in his mind and his heart swelling with hope, the masked man prayed he had made the right decision. He carried his love home. _

_* Romeo and Juliet (by William Shakespeare)_


	11. Chapter 11: Deja Vu

Evey awoke in a half lit room, a blanket draped over her clothed body, her feet hanging off of one side of a bed. It was her bedroom, her old bedroom. She could remember distant days of lying in here for our just to avoid that mysterious man who had captured her, staying away from even the most curious artefacts out of fear. Fear that had no grounds.

It did now however. It was almost in this exact spot that he had lay while she bandaged him. When she had taken care of him. And told him she loved him…she could remember it quite distinctly. It was here that she had awoken after standing in the rain after her false incarceration. So many memories in this bed.

She had been able to stand those last few days in hospital. She should have known that he would come to take her, why was she so naive. Over the couple of days she really hadn't felt any hate for him anymore, no longer wishing that she had left him on the platform, not wishing that she had never met him, never losing herself in her own fits of remorse or disgust. She had even regretted thinking those thoughts. Thinking at all.

But now… now she was angry again and she really didn't know why. She was suddenly overcome with the yearning to face him, to scream into his infuriating monochromatic, emotionless face, now she was so boiling with rage she felt like hitting him, hurting him. She sent an infuriated fist into her pillow instinctively. Why was he so horrible to drag her back here, to torture her further? She punched the soft fabric again, trying to work he anger out of her body, trying to force herself into a calm. Eventually she got exhausted.

She lifted her leg experimentally for a moment to see if she could stand on it. It seemed to have some strength. Evey hadn't stood for at least a week and a half. Her ankles shook as she tried to balance her weight on them and Evey fell back onto the bed. For a moment she considered going back to sleep. _What if this was all a dream? _She truly wish that this was so. Him. She was back here with him. A small part of her leaped at the thought, but she hushed it down and it was trampled by other thoughts: Why? Why would he bring her back here? Was he going to apologise? The sound of his voice played in her head like an old record and she felt a small pain in her chest. It was stupid doing what she had done, she touched the tender area with her fingers experimentally and found a scar where a piece of windshield had been not long ago, it was not sore. This was a different kind of pain.

Months ago she had thought this kind of pain was no longer possible in her life. After imprisonment, most emotions had drained away. A strange thought arose: _maybe he's doing this to remind me I'm human or something? _How the hell would he know what being human felt like? The thought stung, but part of her sang clear in its favour. Anger consumed her.

V set down his book and pulled himself uneasily out of his chair. It had been a long sleepless night, worrying, regretting, even sobbing. He knew she must have awoken by now. Now there was no turning back, there was no returning her to the hospital, no backward glances*, now was that dreaded time between ridiculous action and inevitable ridicule. The masked man's mind stewed. She would yell at him and then become frustrated, as always, with his lack of reaction. He had planned almost his entire life up until the revolution, not knowing what was going to happen, out here in open air where life might hit him, was both invigorating and miserable.

He just wanted to _look _at her. If only for a moment. To see those almond eyes on him even with her burning with contempt. Her, a portrait of beauty, framed in the hospital window, draped in white like a Madonna. The image of a naked Evey passed oh so quickly through his thoughts for fear of being rejected. Even before he could extinguish it, it was gone.

What could he say? There was no explanation for his behaviour other than explaining his feelings for her. Worse, he had made everything so much worse. Their relationship before had been unlikely, now it was simply impossible. If he had never rejected her in the first place, things might have, in the most precise circumstances, played out well. He regretted every decision he had made since his life had been spared. THIS was way he had ALWAYS planned things!

Evey got up off the bed and, as her nimble feet touched the floor, a shiver of cold travelled up her body. This little feeling that she had taken for granted was now an unexpected wake up call to her senses. The girl could remember a time when a cold stone floor had been her only comfort. Now it disturbed her, she was about to do something she definitely didn't want to do… and she wasn't sure what it was going to be. As Evey pulled herself off the bed, she swayed a little.

The light enveloped her as she opened the door and Evey suddenly had a mild headache. Weird déjà vu. Herself, suddenly entering the gallery. Clad in a scrap of clothing**, weak, feeble, confused, angry. Seeing him, it was like a dream. Now facing the other way, but she knew the end to this story. She had lived it and relived it before. She had had nightmares about it. Seeing him suddenly in the gallery lights. Coming it of the wooden door. But he didn't greet her as he had done on that night. He had his back turned, did he notice her? Surely he would have changed his stance or said something if he had. _He was changing the ending to this story…_

She had always wanted to change the ending to this story. If she could change it now…he probably would kill him. For doing what he had done to her. Then and now. It was the same as before, almost exactly. But she was going to end this. She was so overcome with bitterness that it drove her towards him without her say so. She wanted to beat him with her fists, to KILL him. This beast, this creature, this monster! But he would defend himself. He would hold her by her wrists if she raised a hand to him. He was so much stronger than her.

_God what did he bring her back here?_

Evey looked around for something, something that didn't make noise when you wielded it, something blunt!

_Why did I do something so stupid? _

He could just kill himself right now he was so angry.

_I hate you!_

The cold surface was smooth on her fingers. It was surprisingly light. It wouldn't kill him, she knew. She just hoped he wouldn't come after her again once she left. A small part of her, the part that knew him, the part that loved him, the part that knew this was just some big misunderstanding, it knew he wouldn't. She knew him better than she ever would have thought. But most of her was too consumed by anger to listen to what that part said. Evey lifted the vase in her hands and held it over her head. _What if this actually kills him? _

_What if I could? What if I killed myself? _

The silence was broken by a small noise, a whisper, a breath. His shoulders changed positions. V's body slumped a little. He dropped the book in his hand and leaned forward, holding himself up against the gallery wall with one outstretched hand. He covered his mouth with the other as he let out a sob. Evey watched as the terrorist, the man that had always stood tall, the man that could take on a government single handed, the man which up until now had been an unopened box, started to cry.

As quickly as it had come the anger drained out of her and she was overwhelmed with pity. Her fingers slipped

The sound of the vase hitting the ground was enough to break the masked man away from his thoughts, if only for a moment. He turned to her_.

* * *

_

*yet i threw in a PTO quote :D

** her hospital gown, as in/ referring to, her prison gown :P


	12. Chapter 12: Tension

Her eyes were a rich almond in colour. Vibrant, warm, yet dangerous, mischievous, that colour of an attractive fire in a cold night, its colours flourishing on a reflective wooden floor, or the bark of ancient trees, sturdy, long-lasting, strong. He remembered those eyes. So well, staring up at him from a concrete floor glazed over while reading a book, brimming with tears, squinting in a smile. Those eyes cold melt right through him. Right now he was lost into Evey's eyes.

They stared wordlessly at one another for what eventually slipped into minutes. It felt like days. Thoughts raced through his mind. _Crying! _She had caught him _crying! _He simply counted himself lucky he hadn't taken off his mask to dry his face! CRYING! Of all things. He had, with few exceptions, never cried before. The feeling of dread surged through his body pumping like an organ, drying up his appetite and making him feel extremely ill of stomach. V reminded himself as he always did that what was done could not be undone, a reminder that had kept him going throughout all hard times. It was meaningless now. Completely without consolation. Nothing else existed now but burning tension, so strenuous he desperately wanted to look away. But he couldn't bare to.

Her expression, he later thought of with some tiny comfort, was of utter disbelief. She was just as lost in him as he was in her. Thoughts evaporated. Nothing could be though to remedy this. Nothing could be said. But it was impossible to walk away. Evey found that she wasn't breathing and it took her a moment to remind herself how to. She blinked.

V was screaming inside, a thrashing kicking ball of fury and regret locked up in a solitary form. It was all he could do to hold it back. But what would he do with all that energy. Absolutely nothing suited the situation in any way. Standing where he was forever seemed the only logical thing to do! Evey wondered, similarly, if there had ever been a moment this tense in history. She doubted it. A small noise escaped her mouth and, muffled by her teeth and lips, was barely heard by either of them.

V's ears barely made out the sound of the clock and he was brought back into reality slightly; enough to realise how long they had been standing there. He did the only thing he could do. He walked away. It took Evey a moment for her mind to catch up, and a little longer for her thoughts to meet her lips. Her words were quieter than intended. But he heard her:

"Do you love me yes or no?"

The masked man stopped in the hallway, just a few feet behind her. His mask faced the ground in complete thought. To be asked in such a way completely implied that she indeed loved him back, no matter his answer. All he had to do was say it. Three little words. His heart beat for her and only for her. She was his reason for living, a vision of beauty both inside and out. He would _die_ for her. He had lived _for her._ He had convinced himself long ago that he wouldn't ever be worthy of her love. But maybe that wasn't for him to decide…

_She would DIE for you. _

He suddenly felt weaker and more feeble than he ever had before. He wanted to sink to his knees and collapse. No one had ever had this much control over him before. She held in her little body so much power. She created in him something that he had prevented ever thinking about before. She gave him fear. He was afraid because of her, for her, _of her. He knew then that she could make him do anything. He was wrapped around her fingers. All he had to do was confirm and he would be hers forever. _

_And he didn't mind._

"_Yes."_


	13. Chapter 13: Sunset

Evey stared out over the rooftops, her breathing carrying the heft of her thoughts. She couldn't really remember how long she had been up here, she only knew that she had needed air. Even after what were possibly hours, she still hadn't gotten enough. She heard the lift doors open behind her and a pair of leather boots clopping softly across the pavement towards her. Although she knew a it was rude, she ignored them. She missed the silence desperately. This was not what she needed.

The masked man leant over the balcony next the her, his arms crossed in a lazy fashion, not making eye contact, but staring strait ahead just as she was. London was packing up for the night. The lights clicking off one by one like little eyes. Cars pulled into driveways and up to curbs, resting. The warmth drained from the streets below as the sun stared to set. It was almost romantic. V thought so. Evey didn't, or at least tried not to. He reached out a gloved hand and set it lightly on top of hers. She payed it little attention for a moment and then spoke.

"Why?" she said. His head tilted a little. Still, they did not turn to one another. But she hadn't retracted her hand, that brought him some relief.

"Why what?"

"You know what I'm asking." V looked down to the street below. He did indeed know what it was she was asking.

"Because I love you too much." This caught Evey off guard. The sound of 'love' coming from him was both enchanting and hurtful. She felt the strange urge to comfort him but he frustration overcame it.

"You love me so much you want to see me suffer?" It almost wasn't a question. There was silence while V thought about this. Their hands still remained together. Both looked at the horizon, silent. His voice broke in, a little more hoarse than before.

"No."

"And yet you do…"

"If your small suffrage were to lead you away from me," he said, "…into a better life." This caused her to finally turn to him. His head turned to face her as well but his mask still looked at the ground, almost shamefully. "I don't deserve you love Evey." She had nothing to say to that. Silence returned.

The clouds turned a vibrant violent pink. The rising heat from the ground hovered over the rooftops before disappearing, morphing into the sweet cold of night.

"No," she said, "You don't."

The mask's eyes met hers before falling down to the street again. His hand slipped from on top of hers and back across to concrete handrail. But before reaching its place in his folded arms, it was caught. Evey had set her own hand on it. He stared for a moment.

"But you need it." she said. He smiled inwardly. So did she. They watched as the sun sank behind the earth and London became a quiet black and blue trail of moonlit outlines and tiny yellow lights. They stood for some time before Evey spoke.

"Take off your mask." Now it certainly wasn't a question. Well, V thought, it was dark and she had seen him before. What harm could it do? He obliged. There was a soft clink as the metal was set on the banister. She turned to look at him. V's expression was solemn and sad. She slowly leant over to him and kissed his forehead. "I know you think I'm crazy for loving you," she said, her lips still pressed against his twisted puckered skin.

"It only makes sense," he said. She smiled, for the first time in a very long while.

"I think I am too." He hesitantly turned to face her and saw the grin on her sweet face. Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight. V was captivated. She moved closer, close enough to make his muscles relax of their own accord. His heart melted in his chest. Evey pressed her lips to his. Her skin, hot wet silk on his sandpaper lips. His shoulders sagged completely. Without his permission, he leant into her, deepening their kiss. Evey wrapped her arm behind his neck as V slipped a hand around her waist. His hand turned to cup hers. Their fingers intertwined.

The End


	14. Epilogue

Epilogue

V met his eyes in the mirror. He was shirtless. He hadn't yet bothered to get dressed. He looked down over his muscles, rippling and bulging like creatures under his dermis. He couldn't see what could be attractive in them any more. He had almost admired them once, like she did now. He disgusted him, all of him. His eyes trailed up over his neck and found his face. His lips. He had lips, barely. A muddled line on one side of his face twisted into an uncontrolled smile on the other where the flesh had been burned away revealing his teeth and gums. The flesh of his gums was black from exposure to the sun and oxygen.

She had kissed these lips, more than a thousand times, these lips had found places on her that existed only psychologically, these lips had spoken words to her that 10 years ago would have been considered by himself profoundly obscene or stupid. Words like "love". He found his eyes on the floor, without any memorable effort on his part. A problem he had always had before. Even _he _couldn't look at him. And yet she could..?

He turned to look at the beautiful woman on the bed, taking care not to look back at the mirror. Her curved form lay snuggled under the covers, that was another word "snuggled", the lamplight casting her shadow onto the blanket on his side. His side. A feat he had never wanted to nor ever would have hoped to accomplish, sharing his bed with a woman. The mirror cause his eyes again. These eyes. These Eyes had seen a hundred deaths, these eyes had read hundreds, maybe thousands of books. They were a willow china blue and one was noticeably larger and stranger in shape. It was almost impossible to believe this was his face. No. This wasn't his face.

Two white hands slipped gently over his shoulders and around his neck. One cupped his chin, spreading its tiny thumb to brush against his lip. Her shoulder length curly hair draped over his skin as she set her head next to his.

"Hello Beautiful," she said with an honest smile. She placed a kiss on his cheek. His eyes remained on the mirror, watching her movements. She followed his gaze. There eyes met. She smiled, he didn't. His eyes drifted back to the floor. Evey stopped smiling. She turned him slightly with her hand enough for her lips to reach the edge of his mouth. She stoked his shoulder gently with one hand. He was upset again. She knew what the problem was. His eyes met hers again, this time not off the mirror. She pulled back a little to look at him.

"Why do you close your eyes when we make love?"

Evey felt her heart sink. She opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out. He looked back down into his lap again. She came around the stool to lean on the dressing table. The wood creaked as she leaned against it. Evey raised her loves chin to meet her gaze. She gave a little sigh.

"V, look at me" his eyes remained down. She waited. Nothing. "V please." The blue met brown again. Her shoulders sank. He had been crying. "You want to know the truth?" He said nothing but his lips rolled slightly in response, as if her was about to speak but decided against it. She leant further into the dresser and felt cold steel on her back. The mask, tied to the wig stand where it had stayed for quite some time, looked up at her from its place. She looked back to him. V looked confused. She stroked his face and leant in close to him.

Her lips grazed the lobe of his left ear as she spoke: "You're not gorgeous V," He closed his eyes in an attempt to hold himself together. V pulled away from her a little. Evey leant back. They stood in silence for a minute. She let go of him and set both hands on the cold wood. His breathing was heavy and sad. "And I'm glad" a confused expression crossed his face. Evey smiled.

"…"

"You're a gentleman, and your sensitive, and your poetic, your romantic. You're a wonderful lover and a great friend. You're a dedicated father…"

"She's only two weeks…"

"…and already she loves you." she took a deep breath, "if you were…"

"normal?" She knew he wasn't trying to help.

"Then this, all this wouldn't be here. You wouldn't be here, _she wouldn't be here, I wouldn't be here. The world wouldn't have changed. We'd all still be living in…" she could hardy think of a decent word, "…hell." _

_She took his hand in hers. He nodded to her. She was right. But it was almost not worth it sometimes. _

"_If you were handsome, I would never love you as much as I do now." _

"_Evey you know that isn't…" _

"_I fell in love with that face, I married that face, I wake up with that face on my pillow every morning. I kiss those lips." He put her hands on his chest. "I've made love to this body. I know your not gorgeous…" she put her lips to his head and kissed it softly, "But to me… to me you're perfect." He smiled a little._

"_I love you so much."_

"_I love you too," she said, "I wouldn't have you any other way." _


End file.
